Chapter Eight - Mac
“Mr. Stonewall?” Stephanie’s voice through the speaker on my desk phone pulls me away from the view out the window.
“Yes,” I call back.
“I’m sorry, sir, I know you’re done for the day, but there’s a Mr. Manco on line four.”
“Andrew Manco? Wasn’t he here today for something?”
“Um,” Stephanie says. “I’m not sure, really. But yes, it’s the Mr. Manco. He sounds upset. Which reminds me, I got word from Brutus’ people—he’s fine.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. As if my mind wasn’t wandering enough to my earlier escapades with Miss Hatcher. “I’ll take it, thanks.”
“No problem, Mr. Stonewall. See you tomorrow.”
I sit down at my desk and press line four and speaker. “This is McAllister Stonewall. How can I help you, Mr. Manco?”
“Well, I’m surprised to find you still on the job, to be honest. It’s after six now.”
“My work is never done, I guess.” I smile out of habit but then drop the pretense when I realize I don’t have to. It’s just the phone. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” Manco starts, seemingly unsure of whatever it is he’s calling about. “I don’t mean to come off like a prick. Wait,” he corrects. “No, yeah, I do mean it, actually. I do. I’m going to be the prick, Mr. Stonewall. I cannot believe you’re letting Ellie Hatcher go. I’m sick, man. Sick over this. I know business is business and you’re only there to chop the company up and parcel it out—”
“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you talking about?”
“Look, I know people, Stonewall. Lots of people. And I already knew your father was selling. But Ellie is like a goddamned Stonewall treasure. You do realize she’s the reason why you get so many exclusive interviews, right?”
“Pearl-button sweater Ellie,” I say, before I can stop myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Yes, actually, I can totally see that. She has a way of… of…”
“A way of making you want to show up!” Manco finishes for me. “A way of putting your life in perspective. A way of talking you down off the ledge of self-destruction and making things seem…” He trails off, like he said too much. “Anyway, she told me she’s leaving.”
“She’s not leaving, Mr. Manco. That was a misunderstanding. She got a promotion today.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Well”—Manco laughs—“I talked to her before I left your campus and she told me good luck and goodbye.”
“What?”
“So I guess she didn’t get the message. I’m supposed to come back in a month, and I tell you what, if she’s working for a competitor, I’ll be taking my interview to them.”
He hangs up on me.
I just stare at the phone for a few seconds as the dial tone buzzes out from the speaker. I reach over and end the connection. What the hell was that all about?
I wake my computer screen and do a search for Andrew Manco. I know he’s an actor, but that was a while back. Why the hell was he here today?
Ah. A Forbes article dated today comes right up. Former Child Actor Turns Virtual Reality Vacations into Millions of Dollars. Just a few short years ago Andrew Manco was on a downward spiral of self-destruction. Now, he’s the tech world’s newest darling.
An email alert pops up on the screen as I’m reading.
From: Eloise Hatcher.
Subject: Two Weeks’ Notice.
Dear Mr. Stonewall,
I would like to thank you and your company for seven great years of employment. It has been a joy to learn from, and work for, one of the world leaders in the communications industry. However, it is now time for me to strike out on my own. Please consider today’s date the start of my formal resignation and two weeks’ notice.
Good luck in all your future—
Oh, hell, no. She can’t leave now. Two weeks? Where the hell will I find someone to replace her in two weeks? She’s not even part of a department. She has no real underlings. She has no interns, or shadows, or counterparts.
And I just gave her a fucking promotion this morning! Before I even started playing these silly phone games with her.
I stand up and pull my jacket on, striding out of my office. Almost everyone is gone as I get in the elevator and take it down to the garage level. Fuck the train. Everyone is on the train right now. I’ll catch a golf cart over to the hangar.
No one is there to help me find a key, and they are all locked up tight, so I push through a door and start jogging. The airport is not really ours. Not technically. We rent a hangar just off the south end of the municipal airport where all the private jets fly into for Tech Center business. So it’s quite a distance from the Atrium to the tarmac.
Fifteen minutes later I burst into the empty hangar and see that little office lit up by a single lightbulb in the far west corner.
Ellie Hatcher is in there packing up her things.
I shove the door open, out of breath, sweating like I just came from the gym, and pissed as hell. “What are you doing?”
“Excuse me?” Pearl Button says. She’s not wearing a pearl-button sweater. Still the same kimono silk shirt from this morning. In fact, I can, now that I look, see that she has no bra on. Her nipples are pushing against the thin fabric.
“I just got off the phone with Andrew Manco. He’s upset that you’re leaving. I thought we had worked this out?”
“When would we have done that? Before or after you had me on my knees in front of your cock?”
I put a hand up. “I didn’t have you do anything.”
“No? You didn’t stick your tongue down my throat, open my blouse, rip my bra off, and then stick your fingers inside my pussy? Was I dreaming it? Because I have to tell you, that’s quite a fantasy I had.”
Jesus Christ. The second I hear ‘pussy’ come from those sweet lips I get hard. I clear my throat. “I gave you a promotion this morning, Miss Hatcher.”
“To what? Stairwell dick-sucker?”
“Stop that!” I say.
“Stop what?”
“Talking dirty! I can’t fucking take it.”
“Whatever.” She sighs. “I’m leaving.” She packs up one small box of personal items and walks towards me. “Flip that light off when you’re done here, will you?”
I take the box from her hands and set it down on a bookshelf next to me. “Eloise—”
“Ellie,” she corrects.
“Look, I’m sorry I humiliated you this morning. I was just having fun, OK? I didn’t think you’d take it this hard, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s not about you,” Ellie says, waving an envelope in my face.
I snatch it out of her and read the front. “Mr. Alexander Stonewall, corporate office? What the hell is this?”
“My formal resignation to your father. I figure I owe him something in writing after seven years.” She snatches the letter back and crosses her arms across her chest.
“You’re not sending that letter. You’re not quitting,” I say, more determined than the last time I said it.
“It’s done, Stonewall. Get over it.” I try to snatch the letter back, but she darts aside. “Who do you think you are?”
“Your boss,” I snarl. “That’s who. And I’m telling you, you’re not allowed to just quit and leave us hanging like this. Two weeks isn’t enough time to get a grip on what you do here. I need all your contacts, all your schedules, all your—”
“How dare you accuse me of trying to steal corporate property!”
“Give me the letter.” I reach for it again, but she skirts out of my reach, this time running around to the other side of her industrial-sized metal desk. “You want to play chase, Miss Hatcher?”
“No,” she sneers. “I really don’t. I want to walk out of here, send my letter, and say goodbye to you forever.”
“Well,” I say, inching around one side of the desk. She does the same, her eyes darting to the door, like she’s going to make a run for it. “That’s not going to happen. You’re going to accept my apology, calm down, and talk this over with me like an adult.”
“You’re the adult? Really?” She eyes the door again and then makes her move. I cut her off. She switches direction. I trip over a metal trashcan, making the whole office erupt with commotion, and make a grab for her arm as she whips past me. My fingers only catch the silk sash of her blouse and it comes flying open. She keeps running, but her shirt… her shirt is still in my hands.
And then Ellie Hatcher is mortified. Because she is baring her breasts to me in all their splendor. “How dare you,” she snarls.
I expect her to cover herself, but she doesn’t. She stands perfectly straight, her nipples hard and peaked, her face flushed crimson with rage, or embarrassment, or hell, maybe she’s turned on?
That thought alone is enough to turn me on.
I hold the shirt up. “Trade you,” I say, a chuckle escaping before I can stop it.
“Is everything a game to you, Mr. Stonewall? Do you think this is funny?”
“No,” I say, wiggling her shirt in the air. “Not at all. I just want to put your clothes back on you, Miss Hatcher.”
She tilts her chin up and then walks over to me and snatches her blouse from my hand. Her eyes never leave mine.
I wish I could say the same. My eyes are already out of control. My hands are next. I have her firm breasts in my palms before I can think twice. She moans, leans into me. The blouse falls to the floor with a flutter.
And then I’m bending her over the desk, my hands on her shoulders, her eyes wide with surprise. I push as she resists. “What are you doing?” she pants, her hands coming up to try to slap mine away.
“What I’ve wanted to do since this morning,” I say back. “Since you’re no longer an employee, it’s not as inappropriate as it was.”
“So now you want me to quit?”
I cock my head to the side as she relents. Gives up her fight and lies back on the metal desk, her back buckling a little. Probably from the cold. I kick her legs open with my foot and ease between them, leaning over her body, grabbing her by both wrists as I hike them above her head and press my cock into her lower stomach.
“Tell me to stop.”
“Stop,” she moans.
“Mean it,” I say back. “Or don’t say it, Ellie. It’s not a fucking game.”
She opens her eyes. “Maybe I want you to force me?”
“Do you or don’t you?” I ask. My cock is filling with blood, throbbing so bad. I need to fuck this girl right now. Get this weird obsession I have out of my system.
I bind her small wrists with one hand when she doesn’t answer, then cup her breast with the other.
She bites her lip and says, “Fuck.”
“You like that?”
“Me.”
I laugh as I kiss her. Hard and punishing.
“Fuck me, Stonewall. That way I will have a good excuse not to come to work tomorrow. Or ever again for that matter.”
“What?” I say, the spell broken.
“You heard me,” she says sweetly. “Here’s your chance to keep me around or take what you want. Fuck me. Right now. Hard and fast and any way you want. But if you do, I’ll walk out and never come back.”
I stand up straight and back off. “How can you look so sweet and be so ruthless at the same time? I mean, hell, I’d expect it from Ellen Abraham—”
“Ellen Abraham? That red-head tramp who interrupted us this morning? What did you do, fuck her in the stairs after I walked away?” She sits up, places both hands on my chest, and gives me a shove. “Get out of my way. You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I fucked her. Because that was my evil plan all along. I reappear after ten years just so I can come to work and fuck two girls in one day.” I take my opportunity to snatch the letter and tuck it into my inside breast pocket. “You’re not quitting. Do you understand? You better be on the seventh floor tomorrow at seven-thirty or else.”
“Or else what?” Ellie asks, picking up her shirt and slipping her arms inside. Her breasts move and jiggle with the motion and I cannot—cannot, for the life of me—look away.
“Or else,” I say, once she has that sash tied tight and her breasts are covered again. “Or else… I’ll send Heath all those texts. And,” I add, “I’ll tell everyone about your little workplace gossip board on Pinterest. I got that message, you know. You were using your company phone when you posted all that stuff. I have access to all of that information. And I will use it.”
“You would not dare,” she seethes.
“Try me, Miss Hatcher. Just try me.”